


No Natural Grace

by NidoranDuran



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Anal Sex, Discipline, Dom/sub, Dresses, F/F, Humiliation, Incest, Parent/Child Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NidoranDuran/pseuds/NidoranDuran
Summary: Artoria is summoned, and Mordred is there to fight her 'father' once more. But it's Lancer Artoria who emerges, and she's already sorted out her own Mordred, but this even more poorly behaved one needs to be taught a lesson and some princessly manners. Anonymous commission.
Relationships: Mordred | Saber of Red/Artoria Pendragon | Lancer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 53





	No Natural Grace

Mordred was ready to fight her father. She hadn't had time to armour up for all of it, wearing her usual racy street clothes, but with her sword in hand, she didn't need it. The time to fight and finally get her rematch was upon her, and she was prepared to do anything she could to do it. Once Saber to another, and with kingly succession on the line. She’d heard Artoria was coming and scrambled toward the summoning chamber in preparation, eager to do whatever she had to do and prepared to see this all through.

But when Artoria walked through this, it was not what Mordred expected to find at all. For one, this Artoria was sterner and much more buxom, her dress cut in a way that emphasized her very ample breasts, and she walked out carrying a glimmering staff, rather than holding her sword. This was Artoria, but not the Artoria that Mordred expected. Not 'her' father, and in particular, this much more overtly queenly presence was almost impossible to regard as a man the way Mordred did, the way Mordred almost had to sustain her fire and her rage.

But that would not stop her. Mordred shouted, "Father, I challenge you to battle!" as she held her blade steady. She was ready and fierce, prepared to see her fire through and do whatever it took to get the victory she sought. She'd shouted for everyone else to get out of the room, screaming and swinging her blade around to kick any other servants or Chaldea staff out of the room so that she had time alone, unabated, intimate time to make her fight and prove what she could do. She was ready for it, and she stood steady.

Artoria looked upon Mordred, dismissive and cold. "You aren't the Mordred I expected. But you are my daughter, it seems."

"Don't call me that!" Mordred shouted, gripping her blade tighter. She was ready to pounce, ready to prove her anger and lash out, and as she held tighter to the blade, she didn't show anything but pride, anger, ferocity. "You're still my father. If I best you, I know that any other can fall to my blade. Fight me!"

Artoria regarded Mordred with a condescending stare and a furious desire to see this through to the end, one built on utter dismissal. "Very well. I suppose one of me has failed in her roles, and that must be corrected." Artoria readied her lance and assumed a pose for combat, but as Mordred predictably ran forward in attack, Artoria held stern, held cool, using her lance to brace against the sword swing and getting inside of Mordred's space, seizing her arms as she let Rhongomyniad hit the floor, and rather than use weapons, she simply seized Mordred, lifting her up and driving her against the wall with a harsh impact. It shook dust loose from the ceiling as she slammed Mordred down hard enough to daze her, seizing her hands and forcing them over her head, needing only one powerful hand then to keep them down as her free hand began to push against her clothes.

"This isn't a fight!" Mordred shouted, kicking at Artoria's thighs, but it did nothing to stop this.

"My daughter is an obedient toy who understands her place at her mother's feet," Artoria explained. "It seems that you're little more than a rebellious slut, one who dresses like a whore and seems completely unable to behave. You're trouble, but I think I know how to make you fall into line and behave like a good princess should."

"Don't call me a daughter!" Mordred scowled. To be called a girl was to be called weak, and she did not need this in defeat, thrashing harder and struggling under the strong touch holding her in place. "I am your heir, and I will n--"

"You are brat. You will continue to not be an heir unless you learn that fact, you will never take the throne. Imagine a queen sitting atop it wearing something like this." She motioned to Mordred's jean shorts and to the red thong strap peeking up out of it. "Embarrassing. My daughter knows know how to dress properly, and I think I will have you do the same." She narrowed her gaze. "Perhaps Merlin's magic can work in this world, too.' Artoria snapped her fingers, and in a flash, Mordred's clothes were gone.

In their place was a frilly pink dress, with a cute skirt and white stockings, as elegant and as ladylike a dress as she had ever been forced into, one that left her flailing in utter panic. "What is this?" she asked, eyes widening, gaze sharpening as she thrashed harder under the aggression and pressure. She didn't want this, trying to fight against it and keep kicking, but Artoria seemed completely unbothered by everything she did.

"It's how you should dress. Like I said, I’m going to tame you. You're going to act like a good little girl, so that when you return to your Artoria, you know how to behave. Consider this the lesson you always needed, and perhaps she will be more amenable to putting a broken slut on the throne than I am." Artoria knew that the magic worked, and with that in mind, she was able to channel another magic. "What Merlin gave me to produce you in the first place, I've asked her to allow me to have permanently. It's only a spell away. The cock that produced you will be the one to break you." Artoria pulled her dress up and chanted the spell, channelling a pendant around her neck that Merlin placed the spell upon, and conjuring forth a magical strap-on of sorts. It functioned like a real penis, down to the ability to impregnate, and its girth was way more than Mordred could have ever been prepared for.

Not that it stopped anything, as Artoria slammed forward, pushing up into Mordred and filling her with a brutal stroke of her hips, claiming her daughter's pussy and making her scream in raw, feverish panic. There was nothing Mordred could have done to be prepared for the brutality of that thrust, for the raw ferocity and roughness of suddenly having such a meaty prick ramming up into her. It just happened, and Mordred let out noises of dizzy heat as she felt this version of Artoria take her with the roughness that none of the others ever had in them. It was madness, a brutality she didn't feel prepared to deal with for a moment.

The cock was too much. Too big. It filled and stretched Mordred's hole with an intensity unlike anything she'd ever felt. "No!" was all she could spit out, her body thrashing under the raw panic and fire that ensued as she took this on. She didn't have a good way to prepare herself for nay of what happened; it was too messy, too strong, underlined by something raw enough to leave her gasping for air as she got slammed up into, got filled to the brim with. Artoria's magic cock drove in hard, and as thrusts wound up to begin fucking a lesson into her, Mordred was simply incapable of expressing anything but the raw panic and worry of being treated to such brutality.

"You're going to learn your lesson one way or another," Artoria promised. "Even if you aren't my daughter by technicality, I will make sure you learn your place so that you bring no more shame and embarrassment to this family name." She was stern and callous, throwing the full weight of her hips behind the desperate fever of something as messy and as frantic as she could muster. The only way she could possibly make this work was to bear down upon her with dizzying fire, pushing her limits to the brink and demanding from her way more than she felt realistically capable of handling. Each thrust was a messier, rougher treatment, indulging in the heat and the fire too grand to be able to control.

Mordred didn't want this, but her ability to call those shots fell further and further to the wayside with each brutal slam into her. Nothing was sparing her from this messiness, a brutal speed and fever driving her into the deep end. "I hate this dress, and I-I hate you," she groaned, thrashing about under the utter embarrassment of being stuck in this stupid dress and used with such brutality. "The fight wasn't fair! You have no honour!" Venomous and frantic, Mordred felt like everything she did to try and keep up with this fell further and further away from reason, demanding more from her than she could fully grasp, and she didn't understand how to keep these thoughts afloat. Everything she did was a more demanding treatise on just how desperately lost she was, messes of heat and sensation leaving her thoroughly compromised.

"I don't want to hear anything about fairness from you. You have no honour, no manners. You are a misbehaved whore who prances around dressed like she should be on a street corner, and with a mouth so foul that I'm loathe to put my tongue into it for fear of what I might catch. You need to learn to behave, and learn to compose yourself, or your aspirations to the throne will never go anywhere. That is why my own daughter never will see the throne; the only way to make her fall in line was to break her completely, and if I must do the same with you, so be it."

Artoria's scathing rebuke left Mordred angrier, left her full of even more bitter fire and aggression, but it didn't go anywhere, didn't lea to anything. She remained a frustrated mess of emotions and panics too unproductive to really express itself properly, and in the place of anything sensible was simply surrender. The crushing panic and worry of giving in to everything she did was utter bafflement, but each step of the way, an insidious underscoring of raw sensation left her questioning things, left her compromised, wanting a bit more. The pleasures ripped through her thoughts harder, hotter, and she didn't feel strong enough to resist any of them. This was too much, too weird and wild and frantic. Its deepest and most depraved excesses kept her in a position she couldn't process, and she was stuck trying to handle all of it now.

Her pussy begged down around the cock for more. It was wrong. Raw. Humiliating. But she took it, struggling to keep her head on straight while she fought against a willingness within her body to submit. It didn't make sense, and it was in every way something Mordred wanted to loathe to her very core, but her core was more amenable to this than she was ready to face. Her body insisted this wasn't so bad, that in a way this was almost like receiving her father's love as she got fucked faster, messier. Greedier in the hopeless surrender and overbearing passion of the moment. This was excessive in ways so messy and dizzy that they made her stomach churn.

Artoria didn't hold back anything, fucking Mordred until she learned the sharp and harsh lesson before her. Each slam forward was a chance to prove it and teach her, a determined shove into brutality that left Mordred drunk and frustrated and completely helpless under this ferocity. She didn't know how to control this descent, struggling under the weight of passions beyond reason and sense, passions determined to burn her out and leave her with only the singular submission that would be her undoing. "You'll learn," Artoria promised, and slammed deep into Mordred, making her shriek and thrash as she came hard, the weight of her orgasm driving her into a state dizzier and more confused than she felt able to control, whimpering in hopeless, babbling fever as she opened up to this all.

The sensation of being fucked to such a powerful orgasm threw Mordred's head out of focus, made her squeal and thrash, toes curling inside of her shoes as she gave in to it. Something truly wicked and raw about succumbing like she did left reminders trembling across her entire being, a depraved certainty that she was in over her head plunging down into oblivion. Artoria's load pumping into her only worsened that dizzy haze, made her thrash and whine under the confused heat of pure desperation. She wasn't able to perceive rational thought as she hung in delirium and panic here, completely stripped of reason and control as she hung there, feeling that cum fill so deep and harshly into her.

Still against the wall, impaled on Artoria's cock and completely out of sorts, Mordred still tried to be defiant, snarling out a harsh, precise, "Fuck you, father."

Artoria's eyes narrowed, and Mordred wasn't totally sure, but she worried she may have heard lightning clap outside as the king's anger flared. Mordred hit the floor as Artoria climbed on top of her, magical cock still buried inside of her, and with thrusts even more savage, Artoria set out to make sure she fucked the lesson into her daughter right this time. A hand seized Mordred's throat, gripping it tightly while her other slapped her across the face. "You will only regard me as 'mommy' from now on," Artoria scowled, ready to pound Mordred into paste. The floor was going to have to stay together and strong through a brutal treatment like absolutely nothing else.

With such brutal slams down into her twat, Mordred didn't regard Artoria by much of anything except wild screams of ecstasy. Her body had resisted it the first time. Now, she had little such resistance inside of her, and in its place was a much more fiery and embarrassing rush of utter desperation. Artoria was on the war path now, newfound brutalities providing something so much more vulgar and aggressive than Mordred was built to handle, and she was powerless against it, struggling and howling as her legs shook in the air and she felt herself burning up brighter and rougher, the messy heats driving her to submit fully. Succumbing now felt like the only thing she was able to handle, a hopeless wreck dizzily under the weight of messy surrender and desperate panic.

"Mine, mine, mine," Artoria scowled. "I am a queen, but I understand that sometimes, you must conduct yourself differently in matters of family. You belong to me now, and I will not be gentle about it. You will learn to submit and behave, and at least until we are able to bring my Mordred, you will take her place as an obedient fuckpet for my indulgence. I will not hear a complaint on any of this. Complaining will only be met with punishment."

This felt too insane to be real. Mordred stared at the harsh gaze meeting hers, struggling to contain even a shred of rational thought, while Artoria's magic dick plunged into her already worn down hole, cum oozing out of her with each slam forward. Tugs at her hair and squeezes at her body provided glances at roughness and submission that Mordred didn't know how to face or how to feel about, and she didn't feel there was anything to do but take them all, submitting harder to passion beyond sense, unreasonable pulses of weird frustration to drive her over the deep end. "I can't," she whined. She wasn't sure what she couldn't, wasn't sure what any of these emotions meant for he or how to handle any of them, she simply knew she was in over her head and doomed to keep falling deeper into the clutches of this harshness, into pure submission.

"Yes, you can. And you will. You'll submit fully to me, and you will learn the pleasure of giving in." She was primal in her fever now, seeking the greatest of thrills. Breaking in 'her' Mordred had been a delight, but once her daughter submitted, there was little else to do. This one? She'd give a fight. She'd give ample struggle and frustration, even after repeated visits, and had so many complexes to work through. Artoria would fuck them out of her, set her onto the right path and straighten her behavior out. It was a powerful possibility, a wicked deed she was happy to keep seeking out as the roughness dialed up and she taught Mordred a harsh lesson with each deep slam into her.

"I will not give my fa--" Mordred didn't even get to finish the word as Artoria's hand came down across her cheek, as the brutal impact shook her down to her core. Her jaw shook as she stared up at Artoria, full of wide-eyed panic and a growing awe underlined by pure terror. She didn't understand how to stand up for herself, didn't know how to articulate anything even approaching reason as she got drilled so messily, fucked harder and taught this sharp, shameful lesson. It didn't make a lot of sense to her now, didn't feel like a sensible or even remotely sane way to get pulled into the deep end, but each step of the way, Mordred kept trying.

Artoria stared Mordred dead in the eye. "Call me mommy," she said. She kept the pressures harsh, kept thrusting and pounding with merciless fire and a pressure as fierce as she could get, caring only about instilling this brutal lesson into Mordred. "Do it, you misbehaved wretch. I want to hear you respect me and give me the name I deserve. I own you!" Artoria was on a power trip too steep and too wild to be able to control, but she knew she was on the right path, and each step of the way, Mordred just kept fucking falling.

She didn't have a prayer of dealing with it. As much as Mordred wanted to be 'better' and stronger, she failed miserably to contain it all. She was done for, thrashing and whining under the desperate burning and power of pure surrender, and she pushed the helpless Mordred over the line. another orgasm ripped through her, even harder this time, and whether liked it or not, the word, "Mommy!" spilled past her lips as she gave up to the pure ecstasy. Hopeless cries of feverish ecstasy rang out bright and harsh as she lost herself to it all, cumming loud and hot and without a shred of sense, needing this too badly to process reason any longer.

As the pussy clenched down around her cock, Artoria happily slammed down into her and let go, flooding her with shot after shot of molten seed, filling her to the brim and sending her into a crash so helpless and reckless and dizzy that she didn't have a prayer of dealing with any of it. Artoria was the picture of power, grace, and composure as she filled her daughter up, contrasting Mordred’s fitful thrashings on the floor.

"You will behave like a good girl, or you will regret it," Artoria said, drawing back from Mordred, staring down at her unruly daughter. Or, another her's unruly daughter. It was all the same here now, as she leaned into this.

"No," Mordred scowled. "I hate this dress. I hate that it makes me feel like a little girl, and I hate th--"

Another slap across her face. "It's supposed to," Artoria snarled. "Because you are." Knowing she had to keep going, she rolled Mordred onto all fours and guided her magic cock against her ass hole, slamming forward to claim her without mercy or control. She was going to teach Mordred this lesson no matter what it took. "I can keep fucking you all night. I don’t mind. You can keep digging this hole as deep as you want, you'll only find that I can go for as long as I damn well want to."

Sharp, rough pulls at her hair made Mordred squeal in confusion, more rushes of pain leaving her compromised and confused, full of questions she wasn't getting answers to in this state. The brutal excess of this only continued, depraved twists of fever and heat leaving Mordred wondering what to think as her exhausted body took on another round of pounding. She was tired here, frustrated, learning the hard way that she was not the hotshot she thought she was once she got down to it. Artoria made embarrassingly swift work out of her, but rather than leaving her to simply languish in defeat, she'd taken Mordred every which way and had her learning the infuriatingly hard way what the cost of her insolence was.

"You're going to act like a good, obedient girl. You won't dress like a tramp anymore, and you behave like a princess. You will also avail yourself to me sexually whenever I ask, and you will call me your mother!" The vicious, biting roughness pushing her thrusts ever harder carried Artoria toward the release she knew brewed within her, her body prepared to keep carrying forward until she found that relief. She needed control, needed primal indulgence and fiery power, and she got it from Mordred, riding high on the brutal dominance she knew she could flaunt over her with. She was brutal and driven, confident in what she kept pushing on for and teaching the rough lesson to Mordred that she had no choice but to accept, deeper, messier, awash in further desperations.

Everything Mordred had done to carve out her identity, everything she'd done to find herself as a strange outcast rejected by her father and left wanting more, was under attack, with this Artoria demanding their unraveling in place of all the things she'd shunned. Mordred wanted to fight against it, but her body burned with the aching, tingling fire of something so hot and so frantic that she didn't feel strong enough to. she needed this, in some perverse way, babbling and struggling, the words, "Fuck me, mommy," pushing their way out. She didn't feel good about them, but they were demanding enough for her to not have much of a vote in the matter. She was doomed to this mess one way or another, the desperation rising hotter through her body as she gave in deeper to it, struggling to handle the unfathomable rush of hazy brutality keeping her falling.

"Say it again." Artoria slapped across Mordred’s ass. "Louder this time!"

"Fuck me, mommy!" Mordred could feel the shame burn her throat, but she kept saying it, stumbling further into depraved, compromised acceptance of passions getting completely out of control. She wished she was stronger, wished she was better. This was so insane to succumb to, and she knew her dignity melted away with each passing second of this treatment, a brutality so senseless and so forward that she didn't have a means of resisting it. "I'll be your little girl, mommy, I'll be anything you want. Just keep fucking me, I need it!" She didn't understand how she could unravel so quickly, so all of her pride and her strength could so easily become hopeless, failed bluster. With the rough claiming of her ass, pussy dripping cum while she got spanked and had her hair pulled, Mordred learned the hard way that there were some treatments savage enough to wear her down to a dizzy wreck of pure desperation.

Artoria knew she had her victory, knew she was able to call her win as she slammed her hips forward with one final stroke of power and fever. "Good girl," she snarled as she came, flooding Mordred's ass full of cum and pushing her over the edge of yet another wild orgasm. Mordred squealed in hopeless, dizzy acceptance, surrender spiraling through her as she gave up to it all, as she succumbed fully and learned the harsh lesson she didn't know how to face. Everything inside of her burned as she fell so deep into this mess, heaving and whimpering under the utterly pathetic reality of her desires, and she was powerless now against all of it.

Mordred went limp as the hands let go of her, slumping face-down onto the floor, ragged and baffled and completely unable to think straight. She burned with brilliant shame and confusion, unsure how to follow up what had just been done to her with rational thought or responses. Defeat hurt, but this stuck even more sorely, a weary panic and frustration built on the knowledge she had just given up more than a fight.

"Thank me for what I just gave you," Artoria scowled.

"Th-thank you, mommy." Mordred whined and whimpered while she hung there, ass leaking with cum.

"Good. Now, you will wear this dress the rest of the day, and you will come to see me tonight." Artoria dismissed the magic cock, straightened her clothes out, picked up her lance, and simply walked off, leaving Mordred to lie dripping and twitching on the floor.  
*****************************  
As pathetic and as lowly as Mordred felt when Artoria fucked her, she was an even more hopeless mess on the return trip, standing flush and humiliated in the pink dress, burning with shame. Everyone she passe by stared at her, many of them unable to hide their laughter, and there was simply no good way to exist in this hopeless state. She stumbled hopelessly forward, blatant and dizzy and completely exposed, to visit Artoria again for another round of rough depravity, knowing she'd regret it, but having been ordered to.

"Mommy, I'm back," Mordred whine. It hurt to say, but lying alone in bed fucking herself with her fingers would have hurt more. "Can you grow that magic cock and fuck me again? I-I want to learn to be a good girl." More shame. More heat. More hopeless confusion.

And it all got worse when Artoria said, "No." She smiled, relaxing back on the bed, gently pulling her dress aside and staring Mordred down. "I think you need to learn to appreciate how I am, in fact, your mother. So you will not be able to know what my cock feels like until you come eat my pussy until I have decided you understand." Artoria's dark smile grew, and she could see the trembling shame and worry on a face curling in adorable disappointment. Mordred opened her mouth to complain, but to say anything about it was to prove she needed to learn the lesson, forcing her to swallow those words and play deeper into this wicked game.


End file.
